


Red: A New York Fairy Tale

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood Fusion, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: Written for sidprescotts for the MattElektra Secret Santa on Tumblr, prompts for AU





	Red: A New York Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sidprescotts for the MattElektra Secret Santa on Tumblr, prompts for AU

 

_I._

_Though the forest was dangerous, the path was well worn and Red had been cautioned about straying from it. Wolves waited in the wood, who may have looked and have spoken kindly at first, but their hunger was unparalleled. Still, Red had no fear_.

The limousine slid up the street to a noiseless halt, the New York City lights reflected on its mirror smooth exterior like Broadway neon. The window lowered like a silk curtain, and she was there, smiling that tempting smile. “Matthew.” She only murmured his name, knew that he would hear her. And he did. He turned, the tap-tap of his cane slowly coming to a standstill.

“Elektra,” he replied, a breathless revelation that managed to draw a sincerely coy look from the sleek woman, her hair as glossy as the vehicle she rode in.

“So purposeful,” she said, and laughed, the sound softer than she maybe even meant it to be. “Don’t you ever have fun?”

“Don’t know the word,” he shot back teasingly. “What are you doing here, Elektra?” Not the accusation it might have once been; simple curiosity tinged with sadness.

“Having dinner,” she said, smirking as she tipped her face back at him. “You do know dinner, yes?” The soft click of her door unlatched and she pushed it open in invitation. “Come, I remember how much you like Greek. I know a place.”

“I just got coffee,” he pointed out, raising his paper cup covered in a Greek key pattern. “Yasou,” he said as if toasting her, and taking a small, bitter sip. Grimacing against his tender, sensitive taste buds.

“It’s part of what I love about you Americans,” she said playfully, “your fascination with tacky, overpriced coffee.”

“She said with disdain,” he chuckled. He cracked his neck, craning it to the side as he felt his muscles pop. Even now, maybe especially now, there were so many things about her he did not understand. He knew her, more intimately than he had ever known any woman in his life; there were parts of her that only he could ever reach. And yet, she remained intentionally at arm’s reach. On her own terms. Her recognized everything about her with his heightened senses, her smell, the rhythm and pattern of her breath, her heartbeat, the soft swish of her hair brushing her shoulder, but there was something almost stagey about it all, unfathomable.

He chewed the inside of his cheek in thought, and then inclined his head, sliding into the back of the limo beside her. She seemed to be taking pains to keep the conversation casual. To keep him busy, he thought distractedly. They split the difference between dinner and coffee, and grabbed gelato. It was too cold in on his tongue; he disliked anything that muted a sense. She ordered for him. Strawberry. She always knew.

“Why are you here?” He prompted her again, as they strolled down the street, using their small plastic spoons to scoop at the ice cream.

“I wanted to be here, with you. Can’t I just want to see you?” she asked, but her words felt troubled, too tense, like a string tightened too far between two points.

“Of course,” he replied, and the depth and sincerity of his tone affected them both. She could do whatever she wanted, and she did. That was Elektra’s key tenet. He tapped his glasses with one forefinger. “Can’t see you though.” Chuckling softly.

“No,” she purred. “You can do something better. You can feel me.” Her hand laid against his cheek, warm, gentle. He can feel it on another plane of sensation; the way his thick stubble scraped against her palm; her long, slender, callused fingers. Her scent surrounded him; her, not perfume or scented soap. Just her.

 

_II._

_The Wolf was cunning, and it was seductive, and it lured Red into a sense of complacency and from the path. The Wolf had patience; it was not unlimited, but in its shrewdness, it could wait. Disguised as someone that Red knew, the Wolf beguiled and enticed._

Elektra rode Matt with all of the perspiring passion that she possessed, the hard muscle of her thighs clenched around his broad hips. Her damp hair clung to her flesh in thin silk ropes, his strong hand curled around her throat, moving up to her hair to clench a fist there, gently pulling. Her fingernails digging into hard muscle, leaving pale ruts in his flesh, occasionally dotting him with tiny pearls of crimson as they reached too far. Someone who knew them only casually might mistake this for a power struggle, but they wouldn’t have understood. This was a dance, a balance, between two powerful and decisive people. But that was why it felt so right, why they fit together so well. They understood one another.

It was what came after that always had her taken aback, how he’d hold her and murmur into her hair. A sensation, an emotion, that shook her to her core. Affection. Devotion. Tenderness. She always felt like wild animal in those moments, cornered and tense, not knowing what to do, or if she would ruin it somehow. She would dream about it later, how he smelled of sex, the sentimental words that he whispered the delicate shell of her ear.

She did herself the courtesy of leaving before he mentioned that he would be going out, afforded herself that sympathy of killing a lie that might come from her lips. He’d know it for what it was, even though her heart didn’t beat as others did. She had a mission as well, and he would not be pleased about it. She didn’t wait to hear if he sounded surprised when he found that she had gone; he’d have heard her leave anyway, have smelled the absence of her.

Her attire was the color of blood, and she moved in it like the whisper of silk-on-silk. There was a reckoning coming, and she was its agent.

 

_III._

_My, what big teeth you have._

The blood was everywhere. The copper smell of it overwhelmed Matt, just for a moment. The penthouse hadn’t been ransacked, this wasn’t the work of thieves, and the target had been deliberate. And deliberately murdered.

And beneath it all, her scent. And the smell of their sex. It was incomprehensible to him, his eyes wide, trying to grasp at this. “Why?” was all that he could ask. “Why?”

“He deserved it,” she responded from the shadow. It was almost difficult for Matt to argue that simple point. But Matt could have saved him, could have made him turn witness. Some good might have come from the mess of evil intention that shrouded his world. It was a private moment, and Elektra nearly felt guilty for intruding on it.

“I can’t just let you walk away from this.” A statement. Not a threat or an ultimatum.

“Do you think you could stop me?” Now, that  _was_  a challenge, and the mask of Elektra’s countenance slipped momentarily to reveal the razor’s edge of a smirk, her eyes dark and flat. Elektra burned, but hers was a cold fire that could burn nonetheless, hard and frigid and beautiful in her glacial fury as a diamond.

His arm moved like a whip, grabbing for her, but she was faster, practically simply stepping aside and catching his wrist, twisting it. He used her momentum to swivel her and pull her back to his chest. Hand on her throat again, hair, as headily scented as it was, blowing in his face, sticking to his jaw, his cheek.

Her movement, the way that she fought, was a primal scream, all of her sound and frenzy. A dance. The same dance they had moved to before, the same careful balance with—arguably—more savagery. Back and forth, blow for blow, as if choreographed; improvised to perfection. She touched the dark part in him, as he touched the light of her, and the passion overflowed. She held nothing back. Despite the words they had exchanged, Matt was on the defensive while Elektra struck and struck again, like something feral, like something free.

_IV._

_A Huntsman happened by, and saw the Wolf, saw it trying to gobble Red up, and drew his weapon._

The guard stood there, ineffectual weapon in hand, as he watched the two of them locked in titillating combat. Sirens sounded in the distance, growing closer with every revolution of those inevitable red and blue lights. He’d called the police.  

“Are you running?” Matt asked her breathlessly, a thin line of crimson running from the corner of his mouth.

Panting, smiling her big, wolfish grin, teeth sharp and white in the darkness, she told him, “Not running. Surviving.” When her palm lay flat against his cheek for the second time that night, he felt only the thin, pliant leather of her glove. “Don’t ask…”

“Elektra….”

“No, Matthew.” Barely a whisper, but there was steel behind it. She would never again be what anyone else wanted her to be; she would only be herself. And he loved her for it, she knew. She overflowed with her desire and affection for him. Even if it meant this, this strange truce, the uneasy peace they had made between one another. Before he could speak again, “Hush, love. Now give me a goodbye kiss, and remember me.” Her lips barely brushed his and then she was gone, taking with her even that last lingering tendrils of her scent.

“I always remember you,” he said to no one and nothing, to the night. Fingers curling at the air where she had been.

 

**THE END**


End file.
